Scattershot

Well, that was interesting. In the never-do-it-again category, but interesting nonetheless. Goodbye, Friday. It was the first time in a long time that I was glad to see you over and done with. Note to self: if your gut tells you  not to do a review, don't. Your gut has a big brain.


I haven't been random in forever, so let's open up the old steel trap and give it a good shake, 'kay?


First, I really like handmade cards. I like giving them and I like getting them. I hate making them. My mother-in-law loves making them. She gives me a whole box of handmade cards at Christmas for me to use throughout the year for an assortment of occasions. I pilfer it at least once a month. Best Christmas present ever. For reals. 


We have very dry lips at our house right now. Several times in the last week, Kenny, James and I could all be found in a huddle around my precious tin of Rosebud Salve, rubbing it on our lips and jockeying with each other for position like we were trying to get warm around an oil drum fire. 


I've never really wanted a pony. Does that make me weird?


I'm worried about a friend. I figure the best thing I can do is bite my tongue on any advice so that later I can be her soft place to fall if she needs me, but it's hard.


I love sleep. So much. So, so much.


Someone was having an argument the other day about who wears the pants in their marriage. It occurs to me that marriage works very best when neither of you are wearing pants. Just sayin'.


I thought finding my first gray hair last month was my first sign I'm getting old. But no, I discovered my first true sign of old age this weekend when I skipped wearing a pair of really cute shoes in favor of wearing comfortable ones. It's Merry Birthaversary this month and the shoe thing made me really feel the big 3-6 looming just a couple of weeks away.


I have no idea what to get my brother for Christmas. If you know him, ask him and tell me what he says, okay? But play like I didn't tell you to because I want to get it for him and have him think I'm just an awesome gift-giver. His penchant for buying whatever he wants when he wants it (he doesn't have expensive tastes, to be fair) makes him hard to shop for. (This was a completely pointless paragraph since none of you know him.)


Kenny stole my copy of Matched by Ally Condie as soon as I brought it home Thursday night and he's ignoring me, kids, and dishes to read it.


I like it when he does that. It's fun to see him wrapped up in something.


I'm not a big fan of pudding. I'd rather have Jello. I can't decide if this surprises me about myself.


I like being good at stuff but on the flip side, I'm easily frustrated when things aren't intuitive for me. Like, tantrum-throwing frustrated.


Every time I sit down to be random, I think I have nothing to say. And every single time, the more I write, the more I think of to say.


So I'm going to stop talking before I put us both to sleep. 


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